All Around Me
by Group Hugs For Everyone
Summary: The fire rising through my being, burning, I'm not used to seeing you// one-shot, smut. Songfic, song of the same name. Slash of the Pylar kind. First try at smut.


_**A/N**: I'm back with more Pylar! Oh, yeah. You know you love it. Anyways, short dedication to (and she doesn't know I'm doing this...) Queenoftheoutlands, who listened to my incoherent ranting about Sylar and Peter and their pout, persuasive ways. And also for listening to the song the song All Around Me, by FlyLeaf. They're fantastic. And this is a songfic with that song, though it's more fic than song. Thank you!  
**Warnings:**Slash, smutty-ness, Peter being all emo and sappy. First smutty slash, be nice.  
**Parings:**Sylar/Peter, mention of Sylar/Elle  
**Spoilers**: Slight spoiler on the whole Elle relationship, nothing more. If you don't know about that, however, you need to catch up big time and get off FFN.  
**Season**: After season three, nice AU-ness.  
**Other:**Seriously, if you don't like Smut or Slash, why are you even reading this? Yeah. Disappear, hun. Go...poof like Hiro or do a Flying Man thing.

* * *

My hands are searching for you  
__My arms are outstretched towards you  
__I feel you on my fingertips  
__My tongue dances behind my lips for you_

Peter Petrelli sighed, running a hand through his hair as the tears welled. It wasn't supposed to be like this, it never was. You simply can't **care** for a monster, much less fall for one. And yet everything seemed to--

But it couldn't be, it simply couldn't. And yet he continued, searching the abyss for a single sign of the man known as Sylar. Everyone he knew would shun him for this, demand to know why, maybe even lock him up in a insane asylum. Peter let out a bitter laugh. That's probably what he deserved, what he needed. Solitary confinement? Yes, please. Drugs out the wahoo? You know it. Straightjacket and padded room? Ding ding ding! We have a winner!

Unfortunately, he didn't have the damn courage to tell his so-called 'friends' anything. Blinking harshly, he stood up from his seat on the chair and began to pace the small apartment. Supposedly this is where Sylar lived, his only clue for the past two months, and Peter had busted in here with his possessions, moving in and awaiting Sylar. The man had yet to come, and Peter would have been extremely worried if the rent hadn't been payed every single time it was due by a anonymous party. Clearly Sylar was alive, but did he know Peter was here? And, if so, why did he keep paying the rent? Wouldn't it be easier to have Peter evicted?

He shuffled towards the bedroom, opening the door and smiling softly. He never had the courage to sleep in here, preferring to sleep on the pull-out futon, and hadn't touched it. Occasionally, whenever Peter had a bad day, he went in here and breathed in Sylar's scent, the scent that truly reeked of him and no other, gaining strength from the masculine smell. It was as if in that single room he could nearly **feel**Sylar. Brushing against the existence, fantasizing of realism, praying for the weight upon his shoulders to be lifted by this one man.

If only he could **see **Sylar again.

At times, he nearly felt as if Sylar was in the apartment, watching, waiting. During those times he wanted to cry, to scream for Sylar to come out, and every time he was held back by some internal battle. What would Sylar do if he really was there? What if he was waiting for when Peter had his guard down so he could steal his ability? What if he was simply disgusted? And, oddly enough, it was that thought that hurt Peter the most.

"What are you doing here?"

Peter froze, he **knew** that voice.

_The fire rising through my being  
__Burning, I'm not used to seeing you  
__I'm alive, I'm alive_

Peter turned, every single ounce of air pushed from his lungs as he stared at the enigmatic man before him. Struggling for breath, he stared with wild eyes at the bloody, ratty, torn clothes on the serial killer's body. Sylar was exhausted, he could tell by the stance of the normally arrogant man.

"Sylar.." he heard himself breath, yet it didn't appear to be his voice. It was raspy, filled with emotion and relief and hot pain even he could not decipher, and Sylar glanced up through his lashes in a certain amount of guarded curiosity. And then, suddenly, Peter no longer had control of his limbs as he lunged under Sylar's arm and walked him over to the bed. "You're exhausted, you need to rest."

But as Peter set the stunned man on the bed, Sylar tightened his grip on Peter's arm and stared up at him with narrowed eyes. "Why are you in my apartment?"

"I-" Peter hesitated, glancing away as he mulled over the question. So many times he had imagined Sylar asking that, and before he had millions of answers (his favorite being him jumping the serial killer and them making out), yet every single word he so painstakingly memorized disappeared in reality. It was as if you were the new kid at school, the teacher asking you a question you **knew** the answer to, and as you stuttered about the kids all laughed at you.

Although Sylar didn't laugh, he stared and, Peter believed, that stare was worse than the cruelest laugh of a preteen looking for anyone lower than themselves.

"Why are you in my apartment?" Sylar repeated as the silence grew too thick and long for his liking.

"You should rest first," Peter mumbled halfheartedly, trying in vain to pull his arm from the hands of the single man who could make his skin actually **burn**. Burning for more, less, everything. He wanted Sylar so bad. That single thought led to a rush of blood to two places he very much didn't want a rush of blood to take place, his head and his crotch. actual vision of Sylar burned his senses, and he had difficulty keeping his arousal down as the man turned from a searching and analytic stare to a full blown glare.

"And you expect me to rest when a man I've tried to kill, and has tried to kill me, is in my home? How peculiar, the logic you once seemed to have has all but left you." Sylar growled, finally removing his grip from Peter's arm and leaning back on his hands.

Peter tried desperately, and somewhat succeeded by clearing his throat, to hide the small whimper that escaped upon the loss of contact. He looked away again, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck.

"It's...complicated." Peter finished lamely, blinking at his own words. Before him, Sylar smirked and leaned forward, and Peter couldn't help the shudder that ran through his body once he felt Sylar's hot breath mingle with his own.

"I'm a very complicated person. Try me."

_I can feel you all around me  
__Thickening the air I'm breathing  
__Holding on to what I'm feeling  
__Savoring this heart that's healing_

Peter blinked, taking a step back to clear his head once the mingling of hot—no, **searing—**breath became too much for his brain to process. He stumbled, tripping over some unseen object and falling sideways, catching himself with his hands outstretched. Sylar didn't make a sound at this display, but Peter felt his cheeks flush despite this fact.

He could feel Sylar's intense gaze piercing at him, and he quickly shifted his legs so that his arousal wouldn't be visible under the scrutiny... his arms around himself, Peter sighed. "I-I don't know where to begin, though."

Sylar got up slowly, kneeling next to Peter and staring at him for a moment before the well-known smirk came back and he sat down. "The beginning tends to be the best. What made you come here?"

Peter sighed again, shifting once more and cursing the closeness of Sylar while at the same time begging to be even closer. Blinking out of his stupor, he came to the single conclusion he possibly could. It was risky, but, hey, when was being with Sylar ever **not **risky? "I can't tell you, I have to show you." Peter sucked in a breath, preparing himself mentally.

Sylar looked over at him in confusion, a single bushy brow raised and Peter couldn't help but think he **loved **those eyebrows. As the serial killer, and unknowingly Peter's love, opened his mouth to ask a question Peter lunged.

He crashed their lips together, shoving his tongue deep into Sylar's mouth and caressing every inch on the hot, moist hole he begged to be his. He poured everything he had into the kiss, frustration for not finding him sooner, passion for the man, lust, love, anger, sadness, every single emotion he could muster up was pushed into that kiss. One single emotion, however, he heightened and gave to Sylar. Hope. Could Sylar possibly return his affections?

He pulled back slowly, gazing up fearfully at Sylar's face. Sometime during the kiss Sylar had closed his eyes, not returning the kiss but feeling it, deciphering it, enjoying it. Slowly, painfully slow to Peter, he opened his eyes and tilted his head to the side, peering down at Peter.

"That's why?" He whispered, his voice breathy from the lack of oxygen during the kiss. Peter, doubting his own voice and fearing he would break down were he to open his mouth, nodded hesitantly. "Oh." Sylar turned away, staring down at his hands intently.

Peter lowered his eyes, clenching his hands into fists and shifting to get up. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have co—mmph," Peter blinked as Sylar barreled into him, knocking him down fully, and captured his lips in a kiss as he ground his hips into the man beneath him.

"Why didn't you say so?" Sylar muttered as he pulled away, trailing kisses down Peter's jaw.

_My hands float above me  
__And you whisper that you love me  
__And I begin to fade  
__Into our secret place_

Peter sucked in a breath as Sylar traveled downward, unbuttoning his shirt telekinetically and kissing, licking, sucking, biting every inch of milky skin he comes into contact with. Moaning, Peter lets his hands tangle withing Sylar's hair, gripping at it and pulling him up for another hot kiss. Sylar chuckled as he pulled back, running a finger down the contours of Peter's face before shifting the man and pulling off the shirt fully.

Trailing his hands down Peter's chest, Sylar leaned over and bit at his earlobe, making him gasp out, while wedging a thigh between Peter's legs and rubbing against his arousal. A guttural groan rewarding him, Sylar slowly undid the button and fly of Peter's pants while he moved his head down to kiss and nip at Peter's collarbone.

"I waited for this for a very long time," Sylar whispered huskily as he slipped a hand under the empath's boxers and gripped at his manhood. "Waited to hear you scream my name as you came," he began to pump. "Waited to have you trail your hands over my body, waited to be inside you as you cried and begged for more. Are you gonna beg for more, Peter?"

Peter groan in response, gasping out as Sylar twisted his cock. "I asked you a question, Peter." Sylar hissed, licking Peter's swollen lips before pulling back and awaiting the empath's response.

"Yes." Peter growled, and Sylar smirked.

"Good." He pulled off the restricting jeans and boxers, resuming his pumping as Peter writhed under him. As invisible hands assisted Peter in removing Sylar's clothes, Sylar chuckled and slithered down to Peter's cock, using telekinesis to pin down the empath's hands as his tongue slipped out and teased the tip of the man's arousal.

Peter bucked in surprise, peering downwards as best he could and groaning as Sylar locked onto his eyes while taking Peter's length into his mouth. Running his tongue over the veins of Peter's manhood, Sylar listened as Peter groaned and kept back gags when he bucked. After a few moments of bobbing up and down on Peter's cock, he pulled back with a distinct _pop! _and finished removing his clothes.

"This is gonna hurt," he murmured into Peter's ear, nuzzling the other man's neck.

"I don't care." Peter growled back, grinding their cocks against each other and dragging a groan from Sylar.

_The music makes me sway  
__The angels singing say we are alone with you  
__I am alone and they are too with you  
__I'm alive, I'm alive  
__  
I can feel you all around me  
__Thickening the air I'm breathing  
__Holding on to what I'm feeling  
__Savoring this heart that's healing_

Sylar licked his fingers, leaning in to kiss Peter as he wettened the other man's entrance. Peter pulled back sharply as a finger entered him, he eyebrows knitted together as his hands tightened their clutch on Sylar's arms. Sylar smiled apologetically, gently pumping in and out with one finger until Peter's pained expression left and he entered another finger.

Peter gasped as he felt himself stretch further, groaning as searing pain ripped through his lower half. Sylar captured his lips once more, soothing him with caresses of the tongue, and Peter whimpered into the kiss as the third and final finger enter. Sylar swept a arm behind him, supporting Peter as he felt himself go weak.

Fully prepared, Sylar took his fingers out and picked Peter up, carrying him over to the bed and laying him down gently. Sylar climbed above him, lowering down to kiss him once more before Peter felt himself being turned over by rough and invisible hands, his arms pinned high above his head.

As Sylar entered the empath, Peter screamed out and bit into the mattress, the pain was like nothing he'd ever felt. He felt himself stretched farther than he thought possible, and he hadn't even thought once about how large Sylar was. Now he doubt that Sylar could even **fit **all the way in. It was a slow process, move a couple inches, stop at the scream, move a bit more. Repeat. And so it happened until Sylar's cock was fully inside of him, and then began the thrusts.

They were slow at first, nearly tender in the moves he made, until, very slowly, his grunts of pain became those of pleasure. It wasn't long before the thrusts became erratic, hot, hard thrusts that made both of the cry out.

And then suddenly something was hit, and Peter was screaming and begging for it to happen again, harder, rougher. Above him, Sylar grinned and angled himself, slamming deep and hard over and over onto the spot that made Peter cry and gasp for breath.

Sylar pulled him up, reaching around to grasp the empath's cock and pump to the time of his thrusts. Peter screamed out the serial killer's name, begging and pleading for more.

_And so I cry  
__The light is white  
__And I see you_

Sylar pounded into him, and it wasn't long before he felt a tingling take over his body. It came with an explosion of white, searing joy. His vision clouded, and he craned his neck to look behind him. He saw stars, but in between Sylar stood out, his eyes closed in euphoria and lips parted as moans and whimpers came forth. Peter cried out Sylar's name, along with a series of expletives, and nearly collapsed were it not for the arms hold him up.

It took a few more thrusts before Sylar came himself, pounding his seed deep into Peter. They both collapsed, Sylar shifting slightly so he didn't crush Peter but stayed inside him, and for a few momentss lay panting until Peter struck up the strength to open his eyes.

"Sylar," he moaned out, watching in delight as those beautiful, dark eyes opened and smiled at him. "Sylar, I think...will, I think I love you."

And time froze.

The pleasant after-sex buzz was gone, and Peter held his breath as Sylar searched his face. He was sure he was turning purple by the time Sylar answered.

"I—Peter, I can't love you back." Sylar confessed, reaching out a hand and watching in pain as Peter flinched away.

"What do you mean you can't love me back? Was all that nothing?" Peter cursed his voice for cracking, cursed his eyes for tearing, cursed his heart for breaking, and cursed Sylar for causing it all. No person, whether a serial killer or not, should have this kind of hold on him.

"No!" Sylar shouted, lunging forward and wrapping Peter in his embrace, speaking softer. "No, of course not. I can't love you, I can't love anyone. The last person I dared to love I ended up killing, I can't love you back. I shouldn't even have gone as far as I did, but I couldn't help myself."

It was sweet, Peter realized, that Sylar would sacrifice his feelings to keep the one he actually did love—and Peter was sure Sylar did love him after that—safe. But sweet didn't matter, Peter wasted two months in Sylar's home **waiting** for the man to come home, a one-night stand was not going to suffice for those two months.

"Then you kill me by breaking my heart." Peter stated softly, and Sylar pulled back to look down at him. "Sylar, I waited here for you once I found out my feelings. I abandoned my previous life to become one with yours, and even if you do end up killing me, which I doubt would happen, I'll die happily knowing that we shared a love no other can have."

Silence reigned for a few moments.

_I can feel you all around me  
__Thickening the air I'm breathing  
__Holding on to what I'm feeling  
__Savoring this heart that's healing_

"You know what, Peter?"

Peter tightened his grip around Sylar, taking a deep breath. "What?"

"You're the sappiest man I've ever met. It's a miracle you weren't born a woman." Sylar dipped his head, kissing already kiss-swollen lips and chuckling. Peter pulled back.

"Does this mean you won't leave me?"

Sylar paused, running a hand through Peter's long hair.

"Yes."

_Take my hand  
__I give it to you  
__Now you own me  
__All I am  
__You said that you'd never leave me  
__I believe you  
__I believe__A/N: Aww, you actually read through that probable crud! I'm gonna hug you now, just review so I know who you are. ;D_

* * *

_I remain your obedient Authoress,_

_Lushy_


End file.
